


By the Book

by kangeiko



Category: Red Dwarf
Genre: Character of Color, Gen, Yuletide, Yuletide 2006
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2006-12-25
Updated: 2006-12-25
Packaged: 2017-10-11 02:25:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,323
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/107337
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kangeiko/pseuds/kangeiko
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Lister and Rimmer's first night as bunkmates - Rimmer's POV, set during <span class="u">Infinity Welcomes Careful Drivers</span>.</p>
            </blockquote>





	By the Book

**Author's Note:**

> Many thanks to athena25 for a heroic beta effort. This fic is set during Infinity Welcomes Careful Drivers, and uses a couple of lines of dialogue from the book.

Arnold J. Rimmer had always prided himself on his insight and general ability to tell when some git was trying to have him on. He was thus understandably surprised when his new bunkmate turned out to _not_ some cosmic practical joke perpetrated by that A Shift git, Petrovich, and his drunk cronies, but was, in fact, his actual bunkmate. Who now occupied the actual bunk above Rimmer's actual head.

Which actually gave Rimmer a headache.

"Would you please SHUT UP?!"

Lister looked up from his toenails. "Wha'?" He said, then spat out a piece of manky, crud-encrusted nail that had likely never even _heard_ of the mythical qualities of soap, then tried again. "Wha'?"

Rimmer gestured at his new - oh God - bunkmate. "That! That noise is enough to drive me barmy!"

Lister had the temerity to look perplexed. "Wha' noise?" He said, foot in hand. His dreadlocks hung about his head in oddly angular shapes, as if he'd been wedged into some small space for an extended period of time.

Right now, Rimmer would quite happily have wedged Lister into an even smaller space for an infinite period of time if the smegger wouldn't shut the smeg up! "The disgusting sound of you chewing on your rotting toenails and then _spitting them out_ on the communal floor that I also have to use! That, Lister. _That_ sound!"

Lister squinted at the floor, where Rimmer had pointed with unerring accuracy at the offending toenail clippings. He seemed to think this over, chewing the new-found information over in his mind like some gigantic space-cow. Rimmer waited for some acknowledgement of his grievous and quite stomach-turning behaviour to be offered. "The scutters clean the floors every morning, Rimmer," Lister said instead. "And you wear socks to bed."

Rimmer's mouth opened and closed several times before he was aware that no sound had actually come out. "_First Technician Rimmer_," he hissed, drawing himself up to his full height. "You address me as _First Technician_!"

"Sure thing, Rimmer," Lister said amiably, and returned to chewing on his toenails.

This was an important point. Rimmer had a major public speech in the morning - the entirety of Z shift would be there for his mission briefing - and this was an unmissable opportunity to exercise his authority and practise chastisement of a sub-ordinate. It was one of the major perks of being an officer, and as he was the merest smidgen away from being granted that promotion, he should start practising it now. "Lister," he started, then drew breath and paused dramatically. He was reading a book called: _How to Overcome Your Fear of Speaking Public_, and had just reached the chapter on silences. The book said that silence could be just as effective as speech, and so Rimmer took full advantage of this effectiveness, standing there being silent. Right, that was enough silence. "Lister," he said again. "I am not exactly thrilled at the thought of sharing my room with a subordinate. It's not something that was ever featured in the recruiting posters, and if all subordinates have your charm and hygiene habits, I can see why. But," he paused again, "it's something we both have to put up with. Me more than you, obviously. Still, I am not a hard-hearted man, and I expect that we'll get on just fine if you keep my one and only rule."

"You have a rule?" Lister interrupted. He'd leaned back so his arse was pressed against the cabin wall, his knees drawn up and his back arched as if he'd been shoved in a bin.

Rimmer scowled. Interruptions were not to be tolerated, the book said. You had to clamp down on them and show them who's boss. He chose to do this by treating Lister's comment as if it had never happened. In fact, Rimmer had chosen to treat Lister's entire existence prior to turning up on _Red Dwarf_ as if it had never happened. Arnold J. Rimmer did not think of himself as the sort of chap who visited robotic whores in brothels on forsaken Spanish-owned Saturnian moons, therefore the fact that he'd nearly had his todger yanked off at one of those less than illustrious establishments was clearly out of character for him and best forgotten.

Unfortunately, he didn't seem able to convince Lister of this fact, though he had done his level best when greeting his new bunkmate. Lister, the curry-breath Hopper driver who had witnessed Rimmer's out-of-character actions and thus had an entirely incorrect idea about how Space Corps officers behaved. Lister, the slobby, smelly, unappealing goit who would now be sleeping two feet above Rimmer, and likely doing a great variety of other more private things two feet above Rimmer as well in due course. Lister, his new bunkmate.

It didn't bear thinking about.

Complaining to Rogerson about living with a subordinate hadn't produced any results. "Don't be such a smeghead, Rimmer," Rogerson had said, acting as if Rimmer had asked him to produce the remains of his grandmother and shag them in front of half the crew. "View this as an opportunity to develop some command abilities."

An opportunity. Right. Rimmer could do that. He could use this 'opportunity' to show Rogerson - and not forgetting Petrovich, poncing about on A Shift - what command ability really was all about.

All of Rimmer's books on commanding personnel advised looking pro-active when dealing with interruptions. Rimmer wasn't entirely sure what pro-active meant, but he thought that it must mean something similar to 'active'. Who doesn't look commanding when doing something? Well, Lister, obviously, but he was chewing on his toenails. Rimmer would do something commandatorial, something that reeked of innate leadership abilities and professional polish - a ha! Rimmer thought, spying his immaculate shoetree in the corner of the open wardrobe. Perfect. It would demonstrate just the right level of wit and wry amusement, and would establish him as a C.O. with sensibilities a cut above the rest. He sat down in front of the desk, and picked up a boot and some boot polish. "There's just one rule," he said, scrubbing madly at the tip of his left boot with more polish than was strictly necessary - no point in having Lister miss the point entirely, was there? - "and that rule is K-I-T. D'you know what K.I.T. stands for?"

Lister scrunched up his face in thought, resembling a cross between a hyena and a chipmunk. "Ken Is a Transvestite?" He offered.

Rimmer didn't even spare him a look. If you look at the jokers, you're acknowledging them, the book said. "Keep It Tidy," he said instead. He put the boots back in the cupboard, straightened his coathangers and picked out tomorrow's socks. It was a Monday, therefore - the Monday socks. Everything was clean, neat, and straightened with military precision: what every officer's wardrobe should look like. "Keep It Tidy," he repeated, and pointed at the socks to illustrate. "And if you K.I.T., then we'll G.O.J.F." He paused for effect - a brilliant effect, with many overtones - before translating: "Get On Just Famously."

Lister stared at him and didn't say anything at all. Clearly, the acronyms had worked - yet another thing accomplished! Today, Rimmer had organised his shoetree, sharpened his pencils, laid out the watercolours for his upcoming revision timetable, and subdued a rebellious sub-ordinate. It was a good sign for tomorrow's speech.

After a moment, Lister's head dropped back towards his toes and Rimmer could only watch, mute and horror-struck, as he started chewing again. _Gh - gh - gh - gh_ went Lister's teeth, before he looked back up at Rimmer and smiled, showing a ragged toenail on his tongue before eating it.

Rimmer contemplated being sick. He settled for writing a demerit. It was close enough to what he had specified, after all. All Lister needed was to hear his final, polished speech tomorrow, and he'd fall in line like the rest.

*

fin


End file.
